


WOY Mini-Fic-A-Thon 2016 - Is That a Fork In Your Pocket

by 3amepiphany



Series: Woy Mini-Fic-A-Thon 2016 [2]
Category: Wander Over Yonder
Genre: Gen, Popcorn!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7345057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3amepiphany/pseuds/3amepiphany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TFW you're at a party but would rather be at home, painting your strategic war-room figurines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	WOY Mini-Fic-A-Thon 2016 - Is That a Fork In Your Pocket

**Author's Note:**

> http://omegalovaniac.tumblr.com/post/146690084044/im-totally-good-with-waiting-hearing-you-already
> 
> major props if you can name the big reference yo
> 
> To submit a prompt -> http://omegalovaniac.tumblr.com/post/146630613854/woy-mini-fic-a-thon

He spent a good hour sitting at his desk, staring between the invite and his phone, wondering if he should call the ship’s psychiatrist.

Eventually he did.

“How _have_ you been feeling about your work, lately?” Dr. Wheatman asked quietly, his voice soothing and safe and unjudging.

But Peepers knew that the guy was in on it too, even if neither of them would broach that. “Uneasy. Dispassionate. Bored. It's just getting hard to go to work in a good mood. I'm starting to think I've been in the business too long and I’m not paying as much attention as I should be. Last week I maxed out scheduling the Torture room without even realizing that I’d done that. Double-booked the rack like a rookie.” He leaned back in his chair and looked over at the line of calendars he had tacked to his wall just off the side of the desk. He saw another discrepancy he was going to have to fix after this call.

“Okay.”

“That never used to happen. I was always the prodigy, the over-achiever. A damned average-raiser. I was supposed to get rid of the menace that kept undermining our plans, now I’m just one of the guys, messing up a daily, menial task.”

“Maybe some of what you’re feeling is remorse. Guilt. Over innocent people you’ve killed.”

Peepers waited to see if that was the end of the thought, and it was. He half-laughed. “Wheatman, you know the business we’re in.”

“I’m certainly aware of this.”

“I don’t care about that stuff, anyways.”

“What stuff?” Wheatman asked.

“Morality,” Peepers said flatly. Not even to elicit a response, it was really just a clarification.

The psychiatrist sighed. “Okay. Hey. Go to the ceremony, Commander. See your crew, rediscover what they mean to you. Try not to kill anyone, see how you feel about it.”

“I’ll see you there?”

The line was silent for a moment or a few, before Wheatman answered, “Leave the gun. Try not to kill anyone. See how you feel about it.”

He set down his phone and looked down at the gilded and ivory invite, and considered the cardstock the printer had used. It was classy, but it was a bit too heavy for the envelope. Peepers wondered if that was preference or a process problem and made a mental note to ask after it and see if retraining was necessary. Then he leaned forward and fixed the scheduling issue that he had seen earlier, taking a moment or two to shuffle some other items around to adjust for it. His eye fell on the empty spot on the current date, for the first six calendars. The seventh, his personal schedule, read, “Strat Fig MX.”

He supposed whomever had tried to coordinate this event completely overlooked the item.

Begrudgingly he got up and made himself presentable for the evening; choosing to go with a simple suit and a necktie instead of a bowtie. Seemed a lot less imposing than dress uniform, but looking in the mirror he wondered if he wasn’t just trying to downplay himself. He put his helmet on, grabbed the invite and left his ray gun, hung in its holster on the back of his chair, and headed to the briefing hall.

Andy was pacing outside the doors, and he and the guards standing there snapped to attention as he approached. “Sir, sir,” Andy said with a salute. He didn’t have his microphone on him and Bean was nowhere to be seen. 

“As you were,” Peepers said, returning the salute.

“We were worried you would decide not to come! Everyone who isn’t on active shift is here and you’re our last honoree for the evening. It’s not like you to be late. Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine, please excuse my tardiness, this was sort of short notice and I’d had other plans for the evening that I needed to reschedule.” He watched Andy’s expression change from concern to fear. “It’s alright, it’s fine, I’m here and we can do this now. I don’t entirely understand what--” The Watchdog took him by the arm and led him inside, the guards opening the doors for them and ushering them in with quick salutes. It was just as Andy had said; the hall was filled with crew, and they made their way down a side well to the stage and podium with a bit of cheering. They disappeared behind the curtains and Bean was there, waiting.

“Commander!” he said loudly and excitedly, and everyone that had been waiting too stood at attention. Before he could dismiss the gesture, Andy waved them all down.

“No time,” the show host said.

“It’s about time!” someone shouted, jokingly, he assumed. They laughed. Andy turned to Peepers and said, “We’ll call you out with an announcement, just sit tight. Bean, let’s get things going.” They flitted off before he could stop them. Another crew member shook his hand and led him to a folding chair near the edge of the curtains. Another award was being announced, and everyone sort of just dissipated into a flurry of work while a speech was being given.

His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, so he pulled it out and answered the text message he’d been sent. It was Wander, and he’d sent a selfie. He and Sylvia were on the ship. In this room. “Here’s to you, Mister Peepers! Xxoo” it said. He seethed quietly, wishing he’d brought his gun.

Suddenly, music swelled up out of the PA system, and the room erupted into cheering. As Andy started in on a speech of sorts, he took the opportunity to call Wheatman up on his mobile.

“Commander, I saw you enter, I’m glad you decided to take my advice.”

“Okay, look, I haven’t killed anyone. But I will kill someone before the end of the evening, if I can find him to do so. I’ll definitely kill him, but I won’t kill anyone else. Oh. Except for the Zbornak,” Peepers started to ramble. But then he stopped himself.

“Say more, go on,” Wheatman said after a moment.

“I’m here, I’m backstage, I’m not entirely sure what kind of awards ceremony this is, but… I’m going along with it.” As he said this he felt around in every pocket to see if he had anything on his person that he could use to arm himself against Wander, and then started searching around from where he sat. 

“Okay. Repeat this after me.”

“Out loud?” On an extra podium along the wall was a lone, half-eaten salad and a bottle of water, left in the hubbub. He got up and grabbed the fork and used the napkin sitting there to clean it off before putting it in his jacket’s liner pocket. Andy was still talking. He was hearing it through the phone, too.

“I am in the present moment.”

Peepers sighed. “I am in the present moment.”

“I’m in the present moment. I am present in this moment, and am on this adventure.”

He repeated this.

“Take a deep breath and realize, and repeat, this is me breathing.”

He stood there, inhaling and exhaling a few times. Then he said, “This is me breathing.” Wheatman praised him, and reminded him that Andy ought to be calling him out any second. “Okay. Okay I gotta go.”

“Don’t kill anyone.”

“Right, right,” Peepers mumbled, hung up, pocketed his phone, and waited. 

He heard Andy say, “This is why we put out the call, and we were glad you answered, Watchdogs. We all know exactly how hard he’s been working this season… of our lives. And we unanimously came together to recognize him tonight. May I present now, by overwhelming approval, your Watchdog of the Year. My dear Commander, Peepers.” And then he was ushered out from behind the edge of the curtain to applause.

“Wow,” he said, as Andy handed him the surprisingly heavy award - a little golden Skullship. “Wow, wow, uh. Oh, into the mic, right,” he said. “Wow, I feel like a bit of a jerk, showing up later than invited, not even knowing this was such a thing, Being difficult with your schedules for the evening, denying use of the hall and threatening the use of it after a denial with suspension and flogging. Limiting Andy’s broadcast time tonight and then readying a spot on the Torture Room schedule for him because I knew he was going to disregard it anyways. I’ll clear that when this is done, don’t worry,” he said with a small laugh. Andy and the others on stage weren’t laughing. They and the crowd had quieted and the fear had sort of crept back into the room with his rambling. He wondered if he should have used one of the speeches he’d prepared for Hater instead.

From the back of the hall came a familiar voice. “Peepers is great! Best Commander!” He could see that stupid, green hat waving about. But after a few times, the chant grew, and it quelled him quickly. He shook hands with everyone on stage, and then he was ushered back behind the curtains.

The show wrapped up and he was getting invites to after parties and other events that he had no idea happened under his command, and was still enchantedly shocked enough to give out ‘maybes’ and approve an interview with Andy for the show, once they were both freed up enough to do so. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Zbornak, making her way through the small crowd, Wander behind her.

With them was Wheatman.

“Ah, the eye of the evening,” the psychiatrist said, shaking his hand. “Congratulations.”

Sylvia gave him a solid nod of acknowledgement. She didn’t really seem keen to be here. He could appreciate that. Wander went in for a hug, and Peepers backed up a few steps, saying he didn’t have a lint roller on him. “Sure thing, Mister Watchdog of the Year, sorry about that.”

“The invite just said I was nominated, it didn’t say what for, “ Peepers told them, shrugging.

“You were really thinking about not attending, weren’t you?” asked Wheatman. “Wander sure would have been disappointed.”  
“Oh? And why would that be?” Peepers gave them all a look.

“Well, Commander, you see, Wander was the one who raised your nomination.”

He stood there, quietly, holding his award and remembering the fork in his pocket. He was about to reach for it when Andy patted him on the shoulder and asked if now was a good time for that interview. They waved him off, Wander chanted again, “Peepers is great, best Commander!” with a wink and a grin.

By the time Bean had set them up in front of his camera, Peepers was only halfway through a mental list of responsible parties that he would have to reprimand for this evening. He looked down at his award, angered to inspiration again.

It felt _good_.


End file.
